26
Price
I’d searched from one end of the house to the other, and I couldn’t find Gray. Starting at my bedroom, I began my second round of scouring the home, looking for her. The bathroom, bedroom and closet were empty. I pulled the door closed on my way out.
She wasn’t in the spare bedroom or closet. I slammed the door. The kitchen was empty. The living room was bare. Hall bath, empty. Shower, empty. Growing more pissed off with each step I took, I stomped down the hallway to the den where my father kept his guns.
Empty.
Frustrated, I opened the garage door. Short of my parent’s car and my aunt’s old Chevy Blazer, the garage was empty.
I pressed the button on the wall and opened the garage door. Gray’s Pathfinder was parked in the drive. I walked to it and peered inside. Nothing was out of place, and no one was inside. I checked the door.
Locked.
I stomped through the garage and stepped inside the house. With my hands on my hips and my temper promptly rising, I reduced myself to the unthinkable.
“Gray!” I shouted. “Where the fuck are you?”
“Gray!”
“God damn it, Gray!” I bellowed. “We’re supposed to be there in fifteen minutes. Stop fucking around!”
I realized I hadn’t checked the laundry room. I stomped down the hallway and yanked open the door.
Gray was in front of the dryer, propped against the corner wall, asleep. On her lap, both cats were curled into a ball. One looked up. Apparently too exhausted to care, it lowered its head into her lap.
Since hiring the new waitress, Gray had been running on fumes. As far as I was concerned, the new chick was fantastic. She had a great personality and was attractive. In addition to being an experienced waitress, everyone seemed to like her.
Nevertheless, Gray spent her mornings training her, her evenings watching her work, and her nights being critical of what few deficiencies she felt the woman had.
I rapped my knuckles on the doorframe. “Gray?”
She opened her eyes, blinked a few times, and looked up. The larger of the two cats did the same.
Gray grinned. The cat seemed unamused. “How long have I been asleep?”
“I have no idea,” I replied. “It’s 5:45.”
“Crap.” She started to stand, and realized she had a lap filled with cats. She rubbed the chin of the one who was angry that I broke up their little slumber party. She looked up. “I think they’ve got the Stockholm Syndrome.”
I looked at her like she was crazy. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“They’re bonding with their captor.” She raised her hands. Both cats were fast asleep. “Look at them.”
“They’re cats,” I said with a laugh. “They bond with whoever feeds them.”
She widened her eyes. “But I’m not feeding them.”
“You did when you got home.”
“While we’re on that subject,” she said. “Their little bag of treats was almost empty. There was like two or three in the bottom. Yesterday it was almost full.”
“You weren’t here yesterday. You worked late and went home. Remember?”
“Okay, day before yesterday.” She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms. “My point was that their treats were gone.”
“I might have given them a few,” I said dismissively.
“A few?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Whatever’s missing. I didn’t know you were monitoring them.”
“I’m not monitoring them.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Sure sounds like it.”
“Don’t get so defensive,” she said. “I was just wondering what happened to them. I’ll buy some more.” She looked at the cats and then at me. “What are we going to do?”
“About what?”
“What time is it?”
She’d made a reservation at a local diner that specialized in Greek food. It started out as a hole in the wall establishment, and quickly developed a large following. To minimize lines, waiting, and their customer’s frustrations, the owner decided to start taking reservations on the weekends.
I looked at my watch. Our reservation was in five minutes. “We’re supposed to be there in five minutes. I can’t get there in five minutes.”
“I really wanted to try their food.”
“Chuck those cats aside and let’s haul ass to town,” I said. “We’ll be five minutes late. Maybe ten.”
“I’m not chucking the cats.”
“You know what I mean.”
“By the time I get the cat’s hair off me, brush my hair, and straighten my makeup, it’ll be five after six. Then, it’ll be 6:20 by the time we get there. They’ll be pissed off. They’ll make us wait. You’ll get pissed off. Then, you’ll explode. Or implode. Whatever you do. We’ll end up ruining our night.”
She wasn’t far off. I leaned against the doorframe. “Sounds about right.”
“How about we just stay here?”
“What are we going to do about food?”
Cradling the cats in her arms, she stood. She carefully placed them on the dryer, atop a load of folded laundry. “I’ll figure something out.”
“What are you doing?” I nodded toward the cats. “Those are my clean clothes.”
“That’s where they were sleeping when I came in.”
“Well by all means,” I said in a snide tone. “That’s where they should stay.”
She kissed me as she walked past. “Don’t be mean.”
Not going out to eat suited me fine. I’d been out with Chin all day, collecting debts. Ten hours in the summer sun had taken its toll on my energy reserve. Retiring early would be a nice change of pace.
While I eagerly changed into something more comfortable, Gray began preparing dinner. She demanded that I stay out of the kitchen, saying that the meal was to be a surprise. Thirty minutes later, the wonderful aroma of garlic, peppers and onions permeated throughout the home.
Incapable of identifying the dish, I wandered into the kitchen.
She lifted a cast iron skillet from the stove. She gestured to the hallway with her free hand. “Out!”
“What do you mean, out?” I asked. “It’s my fucking kitchen.”
“If you come in here nosing around, you’ll ask what it is. Then, I’ll tell you. You’ll ask what’s in it. I’ll tell you. You’ll have an opinion…” She glanced over her shoulder. “I don’t want to hear it.”
“I just want to see it.”
She slid the skillet into the oven. “No.”
“When will it be ready?”
“Ten minutes.” She nodded her head toward the door behind me. “Go adjust your carburetor or fix that brake lever that’s still kinda wonky.”
I gave her a shitty look and meandered to my motorcycle. After retrieving my afternoon’s purchase, I returned to the house through the garage. I pushed the laundry room door open gently and peered inside.
Both cats were curled into one big furry ball. I shook one of the two bags of treats I’d purchased, being careful not to make so much noise that Gray could hear me.
Without bothering to gently bring themselves from their slumber, both cats leaped from the pile of clothes as if they’d seen a mouse run by.
Standing on their hind legs pawing at my thighs, they begged for a taste of the freeze-dried chicken treats.
“Be quiet,” I whispered. “She’ll hear us.”
I gave them each a treat, which they devoured in an instant. “Oh.” I glanced at each of them as I reached into the bag. “You guys are starving, aren’t you?”
I gave them another.
The larger of the two cats was now frantic, leaping toward the bag. I glanced over my shoulder. I could hear Gray in the kitchen, getting dishes out of the cupboard.
I spread a handful of treats onto the floor in two even piles. The larger of the two gobbled down his food and then commenced to stealing from the other cat, which was a far
more delicate eater.
“You rotten little prick.” I wagged my finger at him. “That’s grounds for punishment.”
I grabbed another handful of treats, separating then into two uneven piles. I directed the larger cat to the smaller pile.
“What do you think about that, you greedy bastard?” I whispered. “Suits you right after stealing the little man’s goodies.”
“What in the fuck are you doing?” Gray asked in an elevated tone.
I nearly jumped from my skin. With a bag of treats clutched in each hand, I spun around. “What the fuck are you doing, sneaking up on a motherfucker like that?”
She glanced at my hands. “Where did those come from?”
“I had ‘em on my bike.”
She laughed. “Just happened to have a couple of bags of freeze-dried cat treats?”
I sighed. “I was riding by the pet store this afternoon and figure what the fuck? I just as well stop if I’m right here. So, I picked up a few packs of ‘em. I forgot to bring them in.”
She gave me a funny look. “The pet store isn’t on your way home.”
I scowled. “Oh, now you’re monitoring my whereabouts?”
“I can’t win with you.”
“All you do is win with me.”
“Dinner’s ready.” She nodded toward the cats. “And, you shouldn’t call him a little bastard, even if he steals the other one’s treats.” She glanced at my treat-filled hands. “Wash your hands before you come in the kitchen.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” I said in a snide tone.
She rolled her eyes and turned away. “With soap.”
I apologized to the cats for the interruption and gave them each a few more treats before going into the kitchen. The entire north end of the home smelled like a wonderful mixture of Italian and Mexican food.
The cast iron skillet was filled with a thick red sauce. Five cooked eggs were evenly spaced throughout the dish. “Will you tell me what it is?” I asked. “Or do I have to guess?”
“Shakshura,” she said.
“What the fuck is that?”
“It’s a Mediterranean dish. It’s like Greek huevos Rancheros,” she said. “It’s the best I could do with what you had.”
“Smells fantastic.”
“It’s supposed to be eaten with bread, but you didn’t have yeast or baking powder. I couldn’t even make emergency bread.”
“What’s emergency bread?”
“Flour, salt, baking powder, and milk. It’s a really hearty bread that doesn’t need to rise before you cook it. You can make it in ten minutes. That’s why it’s called emergency bread. You make it in a bread emergency.”
“What constitutes a bread emergency?”
“Cancelling dinner plans and making shakshura at the last minute.”
“Can we eat it with regular bread?” I asked.
“I made toast.”
Uncertain of how to serve the dish, I asked Gray to plate my food. We sat beside one another at the table, each with full plates of the fabulous smelling dish.
She dipped the corner of her toast in the egg’s yolk, took a bite, and then scooped up some of the sauce with a portion of egg. I did the same.
The tomato-based sauce was thick, with large chunks of tomatoes in it. Spicy, but not hot, it was rich and sweet. I devoured my plate in a matter of minutes.
She nodded toward my empty plate as I mopped the remnants with a slice of toast. “I was going to ask if you liked it, but I don’t think I need to.”
“This shit’s amazing,” I said. “What’s in it?”
“Garlic, onions, tomatoes, red pepper, olive oil, cayenne, paprika, and cumin.”
I stood. “Put this on the list.”
“What list?”
“The list of the stuff that you can cook to make me happy,” I said. “This shit’s good.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
I filled another plate and sat down. Until that moment, I hadn’t noticed Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On was playing in the background.
The album was one of my mother’s favorites. She’d only play it when my father was away, because he didn’t care much for Marvin Gaye. I’d spent hours listening to it with her after school, before my father got home. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d heard it. Likely a subconscious decision, I hadn’t played it for years upon years.
I paused and let the music take me away.
“Everything okay?” Gray asked.
I glanced up. Her makeup was perfect, her hair was pinned into a bun, and the tone of her skin no longer carried the ghastly pale tone it achieved from countless hours in the bar.
“Everything’s great,” I said. “You look like you got some sun.”
“I’ve been spending thirty minutes or so relaxing at the coffee shop in the mall parking lot during the day. They’ve got outdoor seating. It’s nice to go outside while the sun’s shining.”
I grinned. “You look fantastic.”
“Thank you.”
We finished the meal with Marvin’s soothing voice floating throughout the home. Later, after washing the dishes, we meandered into the living room and relaxed on the couch.
My life had done an about face in the past two months. For a man who hated seeing changes in his life, I’d accepted the differences in stride. Proud of my accomplishments—and of what my life had become—I held Gray close to my chest and enjoyed the music.
In no time, Gray’s snoring overpowered the music. I allowed her to sleep until my arm fell asleep, and then carried her to the room. In and out of sleep and thoroughly exhausted from a long hard week at work, she gave little resistance to me removing her shorts and bra.
I tucked her in bed and brushed my teeth. When I returned, the cats were pacing the foot of the bed, trying to find a place to land. It’s where they’d slept every night since we kidnapped them three weeks prior.
With the light switch pinched between my thumb and forefinger, I admired Gray as she rolled from one side to the other. Once she was still, the cats nestled into their respective spots, one at each corner of the bed.
I’d made mental plans to fuck her into oblivion after our meal at the Greek restaurant. I was learning that sometimes plans change, and there’s nothing that can be done about it. Accepting it didn’t comer easily for me, but I was trying.
I grinned at the thought of the torture I was putting Brisco through and flipped out the light, satisfied that all three of us were getting what we deserved.
27
Gray
When I awakened at Price’s side, I was reassured that what we had was real. Each time it happened, a comforting warmth filled me from head to toe, displacing any doubt that remained regarding our future together.
Through the bedroom window I watched the sky slowly transform from pitch black to orange. In a few moments’ time the orange faded, only to be replaced by the brightest of blues. Twilight was one of my favorite times of day. The sunrises in the desert were comparable in beauty to the sunsets along the west coast.
Price stirred, rolling from his side to his back. It would only be a few minutes before the sunlight brought him from his sleep. Knowing I had very little time before he awakened, I lifted the blanket and peered beneath it.
Price’s cock was rock hard and pointing at the ceiling.
I glanced at him. I wondered what nightmares troubled his sleep, or if he was able to find peace while he slept. If the way he looked was any indication, his sleep was absent the burdens of his past.
I ducked beneath the blanket and positioned myself with my face hovering over his magnificent manhood.
Sucking dicks wasn’t my specialty, by any means. In fact, I all but detested it. Putting a man’s penis in my mouth, regardless of what brought on the occasion, seemed nothing short of ridiculous.
Despite my hang-up regarding fellatio, I opened my mouth and encompassed the head of Price’s cock with my moistened lips.
I had no idea what men liked when it c
ame to blowjobs. On each of the three occasions I’d attempted to suck dicks in my youth, I was advised that I was awful at the act.
I took his girth into my mouth. With my right hand cupped around the swollen shaft, I measured my success with my thumb and forefinger. After nearly vomiting in Price’s lap, I peeled my head away and looked at my cock sucking accomplishments.
I’d managed to fit two inches of it in my mouth. Maybe. An inch and a half, if someone had a ruler. Great by no one’s means of measure but my own.
Frustrated, I drew a deep breath said a prayer to the dick sucking gods. Driven by a desire to succeed, I opened my mouth until my jaw popped loudly. Convinced I’d dislodged whatever had prevented me from being the reigning champion of deepthroat, I attacked his swollen dick like Joey Chestnut devoured Nathan’s foot-longs on the Fourth of July hot dog eating contest.
The tip of his dick touched the back of my tongue. A laryngeal spasm of epic proportion caused my stomach to convulse. The Previous night’s shukshura rose in my throat. Tasting it the second time caused my stomach to convulse, repeatedly.
I had two options.
Puke on price’s cock or run for the bathroom and pray I got there in time.
I tossed the blanket off my head and leaped from the edge of the bed, making no consideration for the hostages or the sleeping Mister McNealy. Spooked, the cats took off like a shot, squealing a high-pitched wail like their tails had been slammed in a door.
Price lurched from his sleeping position. Wide-eyed, he searched the room. “What the fuck’s going on?”
I couldn’t respond. A nanosecond of eye contact while I sprinted to the bathroom would have to suffice.
Hugging the toilet, I dry heaved until my stomach stopped rejecting the idea of my mouth having a dick in it. Mildly relieved that I didn’t have to restart my “I haven’t puked since fifth grade” clock, I brushed my teeth.
With my shoulders slumped and my ego trailing on the floor behind me, I shuffled to the bed and climbed beneath the covers.
“Sorry about that,” I muttered.
He gave me a funny look. “What was that about?”
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